


Model Citizens

by shampoo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Makeouts, Pre-War, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shampoo/pseuds/shampoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve hides in a trashcan, struggles with honesty, and fakes a headache, while Bucky breaks out a not entirely legal substance because he heard it was nifty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Model Citizens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [conditioner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conditioner/gifts).



> This is sort of a sibling work to conditioner's fic [Nifty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3201332). We both wanted to write about shotgunning, so we did. Kind of. Please excuse anything weird and enjoy!

Most days, Steve is at peace with being a little guy. Being around the size and shape of a parking meter and boasting the same constitution as an underboiled chicken doesn’t afford him such everyday comforts as, say, a genuine hope of surviving the upcoming winter or not having the first meal of every day comprised entirely of various medications and enough liver extract to fill a bathtub, but what he _can_ do is fit inside trashcans. This is a helpful skill for such occasions as hiding from Colleen What’s-her-name, possibly the only beautiful dame who's ever had and ever will have designs on Steve, and the scariest person Steve has ever met.

“Stevie!” she calls, and her voice fits so well alongside the thick odor of old banana peels and mustard. Steve’s fortunate it’s cold out, as chilled garbage juice is not nearly as offensive as hot garbage juice. Steve knows this. This, he knows.

“Stevie!” she tries again. Steve really wishes she wouldn’t call him that. He is a grown man.

Steve pauses, considers that might be taking it a little far.

In any case, he is a man. And his name is Steve.

“Oh, shoot, I swore I saw him dash right into this alley,” he hears, quiet and muffled from his trashcan position. "Where in the world could he have gotten to?"

Steve has limited time to ponder the plausibility of a young woman talking to herself in the middle of a freezing alley because, finally, someone else joins the party.

“Hey, pick on someone your own s— oh, apologies, miss! I thought you were someone…," the voice says, then calls out, "I really am sorry!" to the scoff and angry footsteps echoing further and further away.

The other footsteps come closer. The lid rises from the rest of the trashcan to reveal one raised eyebrow and one neutral eyebrow, and beneath them are the disbelieving eyes of Bucky Barnes.

"Steve," he says, "you do know that was a girl calling out for you, don't you?"

Steve tilts his head to the side. "Gee, Buck, is that what they look like? Golly, I wish I'd have known before I—"

Bucky drops the lid back on the trashcan.

* * *

The thing is, Colleen What's-her-name is plenty gorgeous and plenty into Steve. He should be happy, nay, elated to be graced with such luck. He should seize the opportunity. He should _be a man_ and _do... whatever men do_! Right?

Steve splashes his shallow bathwater. Wrong.

"So what's the deal with this trash thing?" Bucky calls through the bathroom door. "I haven't seen you hide from anything since we were kids."

That's a lie, because Steve hides from many things on a regular basis. In general it's sick people and crying babies, but he's also been known to duck urgent looking pigeons flying overhead and all envelopes and envelope-shaped-things come rent day.

"Bucky," he says, "I'm in the bath."

"I know you are, because you were previously in the trash," Bucky says. "Why were you in the trash?"

Steve stands and reaches for the cleanest looking towel. "I liked the view!"

Bucky laughs. "Oh, yes, because aluminum anything is always preferable to a leggy blonde doll calling," and here, he makes his voice high and soft, "'Stevie, oh Stevie, come out Stevie!'"

Steve rolls his eyes into his towel and pulls on his nightclothes.

"Stevie," Bucky continues, "where are you? I just want to kiss your big ugly idiot face you—"

Steve swings the door open. "I don't like her politics."

Bucky sucks his lips into his face and stares. "Her politics."

"Yeah, she's not very accepting of," Steve waves a hand in the air, trying to find a way to word it. "Well, anything, really, but especially, you know, people with," he grimaces, "people like—"

"People like me?" Bucky says, jest all gone from his voice.

"Uhh, yeah," Steve sighs. "Yeah, Buck. I'm sorry."

Bucky shrugs and moves for the kitchen "Can't win 'em all," he says, but he looks over his shoulder at Steve as he walks away. "You know, I'm not sure how I feel about you throwing away such a looker over me." He stops, looks ahead again. "Or... throwing yourself away over her over me?"

Steve flicks off the light and rolls his eyes. He realizes that rolling his eyes in the dark for someone who has their back turned is purely for his benefit, but that has never stopped him.

When he gets to the kitchen he says, "Stop being so dramatic," not to Bucky's face but to Bucky's rear end, which is pointed up in the air because Bucky is digging through one of the low cabinets. "I don't need anyone hangin' around who doesn't approve of my best pal, is all. I'm not that desperate."

Bucky gives up the search and kneels on the floor with his head still in the cabinet. "Well, I am. I am that desperate. I am desperate _for_ you. And for food. Why don't we have any food?"

"Because we're poor?" Steve offers, and picks up two apples from the counter.

"Oh yeah," Bucky says as he crawls back out of the cabinet. He knocks out a few soup cans in the process and they go rolling across the floor. "Why don't we get in a bread line or something?"

Steve removes a loaf of bread from his dining chair and sinks into it. "Because we're also lazy."

"Oh yeah," Bucky says again, and flops into the chair opposite Steve. It creaks something awful, like it's going to break, and Bucky wiggles back and forth a few times to keep the ruckus going because he is a child. "We're going to starve to death and die," he says.

Steve shrugs and bites into his apple. He rolls the other one to Bucky. "Probably."  

Bucky catches the fruit and takes Steve's hand. "It was nice knowing ya', buddy."

"You've been alright, I suppose," Steve says.

Bucky sniffles. "Thank you, that means a lot."

Steve watches Bucky recline in his chair and take huge bites from his apple. He does it confidently, somehow, which makes sense because an apple isn't going to judge him for anything and neither is Steve, but when Steve eats he can't help himself from taking smaller bites, less noisy bites, less— okay, wow, Steve is really bad at distracting himself.

"Hey uh, about earlier," he starts, and Bucky stops chewing and raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, _yes, go on_.

Steve bites his lip. "Uh, you see, when you said 'People like me,' that, uh," he tries, but shit. Shit. Why is it so hard for him when Bucky had no issue at all? "Hold on."

Steve puts his head in his hands and rubs at his temples, tries to get some words that actually mean something flowing up there. It's a cowardly day for ol' Steve Rogers, hiding from dames in the garbage and keeping secrets from his best friend that he has no right to be keeping. What's next, letting street harassment fly? What is this world coming to?

Steve hears Bucky get up and there's a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you alright?"

Steve keeps his face covered and goes _mmmph_. His hands are sticky from the apple and are gross on his cheeks. It's no less than he deserves.

Bucky squeezes his shoulder. "Hey, if your head's bothering you again, I, uh, picked up something new that I've been wanting to try. I've heard it helps."

Steve's head feels fine— which, now that he thinks about it, is rather strange for him— but he's just started a fight he's not sure he was ready to start and boy, a headache is an easy out. On the other hand, Bucky is the most important person in his life aside from his Ma, and he doesn't deserve for Steve to take the easy way out, because Bucky doesn't deserve to keep believing he's alone when he's not.

The window of opportunity for making a good decision is closing— Bucky's already off digging in his coat. Steve panics and tries to calm down at the same time, tries to collect his thoughts, be a _man_ , and— "Bucky?"

Bucky turns, says, "Yes?"

Steve nods to the hefty lump of fuzzy green plant mass presented to him in Bucky's palm. "That's marijuana."

Bucky grins. "Oh, good, so I don't have to explain it to you!"

Bucky places it on the table along with some papers and a book of matches, and Steve tries not to pay too much attention in case he's ever questioned about illegal drug usage. This way, it'll all be Bucky's fault, and Steve will just be the innocent little flower led astray by James Bucky Hooligan Barnes.

Bucky messes around with his procured supplies and Steve tucks his head into his folded arms to keep up the headache charade that he apparently decided to stick with. Bucky says, "Now, I know this is all kinds of illegal and whatnot, but I figure it's not the first time we'll break the law and it won't be the last."

Steve has to give him that. "This isn't even the first time we'll break the law today," he says. Why, just that morning they were lifting produce from the stand near the docks to dole out to the customers the nasty owner refused to sell to.

It's not like they try to be troublemakers, never, but sometimes there's a greater good to attend to. This time the greater good just happens to be Steve's completely faked _bock-bock_ chicken liar headache and Bucky's misplaced sense of adventure and probably more than a few dollars.

And that's why they're young adults, not saints.

"I've heard it's good for pain," Bucky continues, "which is why I got it." Steve listens to him rustle some paper around. "I've also heard it's a great time, which is also why I got it."

Steve laughs into the fold of his elbow, and peeks up at Bucky in time to see him lick the paper and press it into a roll. Bucky catches him looking, and says, "Okay, I haven't actually asked you if you're all right with this, so are you all right with this?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "As if I'd let you have all the fun without me."

Bucky stands and gathers his things again. He points to the bedroom-slash-living area, replete with one bed and one couch and says, "Couch will be comfier."

Steve agrees, and throws out their apple cores. Upon sitting he decides that just sitting isn't going to do, so he turns to lean against the armrest and plants his feet in Bucky's lap. Bucky just raises an eyebrow, not nearly the reaction Steve wanted, so he raises one foot and presses it to Bucky's face.

"Oh no, a freshly washed foot," Bucky says. "This is so offensive to my delicate sensibilities."

Steve sighs and lowers his foot back to Bucky's lap. "Are you sure this is okay to be doing inside?"

Bucky smirks and leans over, like he's about to share a huge secret. "You know how the neighbors' apartment always smells like the wrong end of a mule?"

That's not what Steve was expecting to hear, but yeah, he knows.

Bucky holds the roll out to him. "Take a whiff."

Steve takes a whiff. Yep, just like the wrong end of a mule. "I see," he says.

Bucky nods once. "We'll be fine." He fiddles with the matchbox a little, then sends Steve a sly look and says "You first. Open up."

Steve, for some reason, opens up, and before he knows it he's got the roll dangling from his lips.

Bucky strikes a match, but before he holds it up to the end, he says, "Hold it in for as long as you can, yeah?"

Steve rolls his eyes like he knew that. He didn't.

Really, it's probably not so different from his asthma cigarettes, with the exception of his asthma cigarettes being perfectly legal and not as smelly. And, usually, Bucky doesn't put them in his mouth and light them for him.

The flame touches the tip and Steve waits for it to catch before he inhales, a big, long draw that makes his eyes and lungs burn but he hangs in there. Bucky takes the roll from his lips and one, two, three seconds pass, and then it's too much and he's coughing out the smoke in huge, rough heaves.

Bucky laughs and pats him on the back while he waves the match out. "That was pretty good!" he assures, like he knows what's good and what's not. Like he's experienced. Steve knows damn well he's not.

"Your turn," Steve says between wheezes. His chest feels tense but not alarmingly so, and Steve figures Bucky probably let him go first just to make sure Steve could handle it. With anyone else Steve would get that frustrating mix of gratitude and annoyance he can't seem to avoid when people treat him carefully, but with Bucky, he just feels cared for, and it makes a world of difference.

Bucky's still laughing when he takes drag for himself, and the bastard holds it in for twice as long as Steve before he starts coughing too.

Bucky holds a fist up to his mouth and closes his eyes. "Wow," he says, and starts coughing anew.

"Here, let me try again," Steve says. He leans closer to Bucky to take the roll back, but Bucky offers it up himself, pinched between two fingers in front of Steve's face. Steve doesn't feel like arguing so he just closes his lips around it and goes in for Attempt #2.

He knows what to expect, now, and he focuses on the veins in Bucky's wrist as he inhales. One, two, three, and— "Jesus," he gasps, and tumbles into another coughing fit.

He looks up in time to see Bucky exhale a smooth wave of thick smoke and smile at him. "You feel anything yet?"

Steve laughs. "I can't tell," he says, and puts his hand on Bucky's knee so he can lean up and take another hit. Bucky holds it for him again, and third time's a charm— he only coughs once.

Now things are definitely getting blurred around the edges, and the back of Steve's head tingles like his brain's wiggling around inside it. He laughs again and rests his head on Bucky's shoulder, watches the hinge of Bucky's jaw work as he takes a third hit himself.

"I found it," he says, and his mouth feels slow and he realizes he should probably back up and off of Bucky, but it feels good to be close, and he can always blame it on the drug if Bucky gets upset. Steve knows he won't.

"Found what?" Bucky asks, head tipped back against the couch, voice slow and raspy like Steve's.

"I found the feeling," he says, through a big goofy grin. The arm that's holding Steve up on Bucky's knee is wobbly and tired so he slides down and turns so his head rests on Bucky's thigh.

Bucky looks down at him and his eyes are warm and distant, and when he asks Steve if he wants to go again, it takes him ages to answer.

Bucky overshoots with the roll a bit and his fingers run across Steve's lip before it's in his mouth again. Steve's mind stutters over itself for a few moments, then he remembers what he's supposed to do.

While Steve exhales he feels Bucky's fingers stroke over his scalp, over and over in little circles. He closes his eyes and pushes his head against Bucky's hand, because that's amazing, and he doesn't ever want it to stop.

"Your head feel better?"

Steve's head feels better than it ever has, actually, floaty and gauzy and dreamy, and nothing else hurts, either. Not his chest, not his joints, nothing. He smiles up at the ceiling. "Yeah, yeah," he says, and adds, "keep doing that."

Bucky hums, and starts to stroke his thumb over Steve's forehead. Steve's breath catches— he had no idea someone touching his forehead, of all things, could feel so... so _much_. Bucky pauses, though, and asks, "Oh yeah, d'you remember what you were gonna to tell me?"

Steve frowns, and kind of doesn't want to talk at all, kind of just wants Bucky to keep touching different parts of him to see what feels best. "Uh. Uh, huh. What?" he says, and laughs roll out of him nice and easy when Bucky smiles down at him.

"Well, if you remember," Bucky says, and trails off in favor of gently scratching at Steve's scalp. Steve moans, and he feels like he should be embarrassed over it, but Bucky doesn't stop so Steve can't bother to try.

"How 'bout you?" Steve asks. "You feelin' it?"

Bucky says, "I could probably feel it a little more," and Steve can't fathom the fact that Bucky isn't experiencing what Steve is. He sits up, but keeps going a little too far so he's bent over in half, and it makes him giggle to himself. He says, "Help," and Bucky drags him up and into his lap, careful not to touch burning end of the roll to Steve.

Steve takes it from Bucky and holds it up to Bucky's mouth. "You gotta have more," he insists, and watches Bucky lick his lips and take the paper between them, watches his eyelashes sweep down over his cheekbones as he inhales. He holds in it for a long time, and his eyes drag back up to Steve's as he breathes out a steady stream of smoke that curls around them both.

Steve can't look away. He holds the roll up and says, "Do it again," low and quiet.

Bucky keeps his eyes on Steve this time, and Steve's in trouble, so, so much trouble. It's been getting easier to keep his thoughts at bay but Steve's mind is foggy and free and right now Bucky looks damn good with his hair mussed up, eyes sleepy and glazed but alight with something dangerous, red lips still shining and so close, all his attention on Steve.

He takes the roll away and rests the fingertips of one hand on Bucky's jaw, and Bucky's still got the smoke in his lungs so Steve leans in and says, "Give me some."

Bucky makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat and exhales, shaky, into Steve's open mouth. Steve presses their lips together to get more, inhales deep, and Bucky's lips are warm and soft against Steve's and Steve doesn't even care about keeping the smoke in, lets it flow out between them while he slides fingers around to grip the hair at the back of Bucky' head.

Bucky breaks away and Steve feels him shiver, watches him bite his lip. Steve drops his head so his face is against Bucky's neck and tries to ground himself before he takes this further than he means to, but he really can't see where he'd want to stop, and Bucky hasn't shoved him off yet.

"Hey," he says, and his mouth feels cottony and empty and buzzing, like it needs Bucky back on it _yesterday_. He runs his fingernails over the back of Bucky's neck because he knows it feels good, and Steve wants him— needs him— to be absolutely on board with this. "I remembered what I wanted to tell you."

Bucky puts his hands on Steve's hips and strokes Steve's hipbones with his thumbs, and Steve hums his approval against Bucky's skin. "Yeah?" he says, half choked out and breathy.

"Yeah," Steve repeats. He lifts his head and looks at the still burning roll in his hand, and the ashes on the cushion, and takes another hit before it's gone. Bucky's already leaning up for it when Steve moves in to share.

Steve lets it out slow, tips back just far enough to watch Bucky take it. He's dizzy and he wants and he feels like he's on top of the world and Bucky is so fucking pretty—

"You know how you like dames and fellas?" he asks, and Bucky meets his gaze, hopeful and pleading and scared. Steve lets the moment hang, just a second, before he whispers, "Me too. I do too."  

"Steve," Bucky says, desperate, "Steve, don't yank me around here, I—"

"I'm not," Steve says. "I'm not, I wouldn't." He drops the roll, no longer burning, off the edge of the couch and slides both hands up Bucky's chest to his neck. "I have, I've been," he says, "for years," he says, and "just kiss me, Buck."

And Bucky does, surges up and kisses Steve for real, and he tastes like smoke and wet skin and they're both still sweet from the apples. Steve's mind can't keep up and it feels like a million kisses at once, all slow and soft and Bucky's lips are plush and warm against Steve's.

Steve clutches Bucky closer to him so their chests are pressed together. Bucky is so solid where Steve feels hollow and Steve loves it, just loves it, and when Bucky sucks Steve's bottom lip into his mouth and runs his tongue over it Steve can't help his groan any more than he can help getting hard against Bucky's stomach.

Absurdly, he wants to pull back and apologize, as if popping a stiffy wasn't the whole point of what they were doing, but Bucky saves him the embarrassment by leaning up and pushing Steve back so he's pressed into the couch cushions, Bucky cradled between his thighs, and yeah, that's good, great idea, Buck.

Bucky smiles down at him and runs his hands over the insides of Steve's thighs, over and over and over, and it makes Steve squirm against the couch and pull Bucky down for more kisses, hotter and wetter this time, more urgent, and everything feels so good, nothing has ever felt this good before, and Steve hopes it's the same for Bucky.

Bucky rocks his hips against Steve's and— "Fuck, _fuck_ ," Steve gasps, throws his head back and moans and Bucky rests his forehead on Steve's shoulder and does it again, and again, pushes Steve's thighs apart to make more room and does it again, and Steve grabs onto Bucky's hips to make sure they keep going until Steve is damn well ready for them to stop.

"Shit, Steve," Bucky says, breathless, and latches his mouth under Steve's ear and bites and sucks his way down Steve's neck while keeping his hips pumping, and Steve is not going to last, not with his head spinning the way it is, not with Bucky's soft moans and little whines in his ear. "Ah! Bucky, Bucky," he pants out, "Bucky, m'gonna—"

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky breathes, and lifts Steve's thigh up around his hip so he can grind harder and faster, and he's so close, so close—

It tears through him in brilliant, heaving waves, and he's barely aware of the noises he's making against Bucky's mouth, high and drawn out and completely overcome, and he tries to watch Bucky tumble over the edge with him but his vision's blurry and his eyelids heavy, so he just feels Bucky tense and shudder and hears his harsh and deep groans, until they both finally still and collapse into each other.

It takes Steve a while to catch his breath, while Bucky runs his fingers through Steve's hair again and presses little kisses to whatever skin he can get to easiest. When his breathing finally does even out, instead of saying all of the sappy things piling up in his mind, what comes out is: "Right in my pants."

Bucky says, "What?"

"Right in my pants," Steve repeats, and shakes his head down at his crotch.

Bucky grins and nods and says, "Yeah, that was swell," with a far away voice, then dozes right the fuck off half draped on top of Steve.

Steve can't even pretend to be annoyed about it, so he grins up at the ceiling and runs a hand up and down between Bucky's shoulder blades, right up until he follows Bucky to sleep.

* * *

Later— when they're all cleaned up and coming down, curled up in bed around each other, in the dark save for the yellow glowing stripes coming in from the slats on the window— Steve hears his name.

"Steve," Bucky says, right in his ear, and it tickles. He's too tired to move, so he pretends to be asleep.

" _Steve_ ," he hears again.

Ugh, fine.

Steve says, "What,"  and it vibrates against Bucky's shoulder.

"How you feelin'?" Bucky asks. He's very still, kind of stiff, and it's a weird contrast to the squirmy, yielding Bucky he went to bed with.

Steve turns his head to look at Bucky's profile. "M'fine, kinda thirsty, throat's sore. Just remembered I forgot to lock up some things last shift I worked at the stand, but I'm not too worried about it. My nose itches," he rubs his face against Bucky's collarbone, "now it's fine. Should I go into more detail?"

Bucky blows some air out of his nose the way he does when he's amused but doesn't feel like full on laughing. "I, uh— I just wanted to make sure it wasn't just, you weren't just—"

"It wasn't just the drugs. Promise," Steve says. Then, because he can, he leans up over Bucky and presses warm kisses to Bucky's forehead, his cheek, his nose, and Bucky's growing smile. "Promise," he repeats.

Bucky's still smiling. He says, "Oh, good," and pulls Steve back down for another kiss.

Steve pulls back up with a thoughtful look. "Though, I guess getting high and making out is probably a little childish for two distinguished men such as ourselves."

Bucky puts on a serious face. "Oh, absolutely. We should never do that again. Ever."

Steve laughs and brushes Bucky's hair off of his forehead. "Oh, no, never." He frowns though, and says "Hey, do you ever feel like maybe we should stop acting like stupid kids? Stop getting into trouble? Grow up a little?"

Bucky sighs. "Well, let's see," he says, and holds up a hand to count off his points. "The war's getting more serious, the economy stinks, you're still sick more often than not, and as happy as this," and here, Bucky presses a kiss to Steve's temple, "makes me, it's still against the law, and we're going to have to keep it a secret. So no," he says, "I'm not really in a hurry to grow up. I'm sure it's gonna happen sometime soon, and I tell ya', it'll be too damn soon."

Steve settles back into the bed and laces their fingers together. Bucky's hands are a lot bigger than Steve's, and his fingers spread Steve's fingers apart almost more than they can take. But, as long as he can have Bucky to fill the spaces, Steve's going to keep him there.

"You're right," Steve says. "But I was thinking more, like, maybe we should stop going to the roof and betting on which pigeon is going to shit on someone first, or fake crying about our mothers to get free refills at the diner."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky says around a yawn. "Those are valid points, but we'll test it all that out tomorrow, Stevie. Tonight, we sleep."

"Don't call me that," Steve says, but Bucky's already pretending to snore, and Steve rolls his eyes into the dark.

* * *

The next day is a rare day off for both of them, and after sleeping entirely too late for two respectable men, Steve and Bucky sit by the window at a respectable diner and drink one cup of respectably black coffee apiece.

Or at least, they try to drink it. Steve dares another sip of his, and it's just not worth it. It's just not worth it. Surely a tiny, miniscule amount of sugar wouldn't hurt? Good heavens, he may have the health of one but he's not an old man yet.

Bucky glares at his mug with his mouth scrunched up to one side and eyes the sugar bowl on the table. "I have an idea," he says.

Steve watches Bucky pull a heaping spoonful of sugar out of the bowl and swirl it into Steve's cup. Then he looks at Steve, then the bowl, then Steve, and repeats the process once more.

When he's done Bucky puts the sugar spoon on the table. "There. You had nothing to do with that. It wasn't your choice. You can't be held responsible. Enjoy."

Steve nods and takes the spoon. "Thanks. How many do you want?"

Bucky pushes his mug toward Steve and says, "Just load me up," at the same time someone calls "Stevie!" from the entrance. Oh, no.

Steve tries not to look too pained when he smiles and waves, just a little wave, more of a ripple, really. "Hey there, Colleen," he says, and Bucky huffs and takes the spoon from Steve.

Colleen walks up to the table and clasps her hands together over her chest. "Oh, I'm so glad I found you here! What did you get up to yesterday? One minute you were there and the next you just disappeared!"

Steve says, "I, uh," and looks to Bucky for help, but Bucky is just dumping spoon after spoon of sugar into his coffee and smirking at it. "Uh, you know. Something. Came up," he says, and shrugs.

He hears Bucky snort and mutter, "Sure did," and Steve could kill him, really. He takes a sip of his coffee to hide the blush that's no doubt making its way down his neck, and Colleen seems amazingly oblivious to anything.

That is, until she frowns and says, "You know, if I didn't know any better I'd say you weren't interested in me at all, Steve Rogers!"

Steve gently spits the coffee in his mouth back into his cup and tries to ignore the fact that the entire restaurant just got so, very quiet.

"Look, I know I'm not the greatest catch around," she says, which instantly makes Steve feel ten times more guilty, "but you can at least be honest with me! I thought you were good people, Steve!"

Bucky is still spooning sugar and his shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. He does not meet Steve's desperate gaze. As a best friend, he is useless.

       Steve sighs and stands up to get more level with Colleen, though she is still two heads taller than him. "I'm sorry," he says, and adds, "I'm really sorry," for good measure. Colleen's face softens and Steve keeps going. "I'm not used to pretty girls talking to me and I didn't know how to handle it. I should have told you sooner, but there's," _don't look at Bucky, don't look at Bucky, don't look at Bucky_ , "there's someone else. But you're a great catch, Colleen, don't you ever think you're not. Any guy would be lucky to have you."

Colleen sighs. "Just not you, huh?"

"Just not me," Steve agrees.

Colleen's shoulders fall and she gives him a little smile, warm and sincere. "That's all you had to say, Steve. Girls are sturdy, they can handle the truth, I promise."

Steve knows he wasn't being all the way truthful, but there's no need to announce to the whole diner that Steve doesn't agree with her completely popular and legal stance on sexual deviancy. Anyway— _don't look at Bucky_ — he wasn't exactly lying, either.

"Well, thanks to you, I know that now," Steve says.

Colleen brightens. "I'm glad. I'll let you get back to your morning." She gestures at Bucky, frowns, and says, "Hey, aren't you the fella from the alley yesterday?"

Bucky removes the spoon that was balanced on his nose, tilts his head and says, "What's an alley?"

Colleen has absolutely no idea what to do with that, it seems, so she just shrugs, turns, and walks away. "See you around!" she calls back.

Steve gives her a real wave and returns to his seat.

Bucky grins at him over his mug. "Someone else, huh?" he says, while he taps his foot against Steve's shin and wiggles his eyebrows.

Steve wants to say, "We damn near had sex last night and you'll stop teasing me if you ever want it to happen again," but they're in public on the better side of town, and Steve feels warm and jittery over the sudden realization that Bucky is his and it's real and it's okay, so he just sends Bucky a shy smile and says, "Yep, someone else."

"Ugh," Bucky says into his coffee. "Too sweet."

"Shut up, Buck, we both know that's how you like it."

Bucky kicks him under the table and shoots him a fond look, which Steve can't help but return, and Steve wants to kick himself for letting it cross his mind it but he thinks that loving each other is probably the best law they've ever broken.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at ihhop.tumblr.com if you're into that kind of thing!


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